What dreams can I talk about today, Scarlett? You and the other angels live out yours: to play as any person that does their taxes. How I envy! A supposedly Japanese cyborg doesn’t have to use its walkie-talkie telepathic gizmo to call the IRS. You think the screenwriter who came up with that plot point had a scene where the protagonist filled out a 1040? The phone rings:
“My wife’s leaving. We need something to actually
happen in this here pick-tchah. Move the setting to
D.C. on January 6th. Have her screw a blonde and
put a hole thru a terrorist’s head. No guns in D.C.?
The hell ya talking about? I believe that more than
(Sir, your 2 p.m. is ready.)
“What happened to the footage I was supposed to get
yesterday? I need fresh, I need hot, I need to go back
to the time where my job was fun. The skirts are
getting longer. The men are getting skinnier. I didn’t
suffer through a Capra movie for this. Book that
(EXT. THE HOLY LAND - NIGHT)
Our hero, a dog on the streets, thirstier for success than Horatio Alger. His foil, “the woman,” rips off the heels of her shoes to run faster. *By the way, for those of you jotting down notes in your Moleskin notebooks: you can’t suddenly turn high-heels into flats. For the amount of time you all look at women’s legs, you’d think you’d realize how strong they are to run 0 - 60mph* The sheep flying over remind them how children’s skin makes for good furniture.
“Where’s the slaves? Where’s the slaves, man? I
can’t sell this in China. Don’t you want the gold?
You people lack ambition. How can you come into
this country, get thousands of dollars in debt
at UCLA, then send something like this to me? I said
no cameras in the room, dear."
check the gate we broke the line but we’ll fix it in post hey you –
(My name only has 6 letters.)
whatever grab that mighty mole off the beefy baby triple riser and hold up the butt plug with C-47’s the HMC needs fluid the bag of T-stops is next to it triple time 2 creams 2 sugars a shot of Grey Goose and an American Spirit Abbey Singer then send the dailies over
(Please speak English for once.)
are you an American you’re not an American I can smell you from the crafty table good luck cleaning toilets while I actually do something with my life my orange juice was warm by the way there’s some rope on the prop table see if it fits you
It’s 11 p.m. now. I got a plane to catch at dawn, and I’m still sitting at a bar in Hollywood that serves omelettes for 20 bucks with people I’ll never see again — including that security guard waiting outside the bathrooms for some no-name to come out. Who’s going to hurt you when no one cares? In that case, let’s give every bum in Santa Monica a guy with a gun that isn’t a cop. I was waiting for my Lyft outside (anyone here can tell you Uber is for fascists) when that security guard stepped out, complimented my sneakers, and asked if he could clean them. He kept his eyes off Scarlett when that Uber came barreling by (see?) and then she stepped inside and
oh my god Scarlett this can’t be
we loved you so
you were great with Bill Murray
say hello to Mrs. Wood